


Dreamt of in your philosophy

by nikirik



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers Season 7 Episode 1 Part 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikirik/pseuds/nikirik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On stress, ghosts and music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamt of in your philosophy

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: unbetaed,title and quotes from "Hamlet". An episode-related fic written for the lewis-challenge.livejournal.com Season 7 Fanwork Challenge: 7.1.

Robbie Lewis wasn't stressed and he couldn't for the life of him understand why everybody else implied otherwise. Maybe he wasn't in the finest of his moods, but you can't blame an old man for not being chipper in the morning, can you?  
James picked him up as he did almost every other day ("Am I your 'good deed a day', lad?" Robbie wondered grumpily) and was now tormenting him with some depressive straight-out-of-the-monastery music.  
"Your CD must be scratched", finally said Robbie.  
"Don't you find the repetition meditative?"  
"If meditative's another word for monotonous, then yes. Very."  
"Highly effective in combating stress."  
Robbie was startled.  
"Yeah? But I'm not stressed."  
"You don't think you're stressed. You've assimilated it. God, man, watch out!"  
James braked suddenly as some careless girl almost jumped under the wheels.  
Robbie could've sworn the woman was... No, he never believed in ghosts.  
And then with a loud thud something bumped into them and the car shuddered.  
Robbie paid little attention to the following events deeply in his own musings  
The hair, the dress, yes, there was some grain of resemblance and it happened so suddenly, no wonder, he was so stricken. Maybe he really needed some qualified help for imagining things far out the range of reality.  
Unsatisfied with himself he got out of the car just in time to notice James exchanging business cards with the woman driver which gained him another sour look from the Guv.  
"Not the best way to get a copper's number."  
"It wasn't her fault. It was the woman who crossed the road. She..." Why did he have to be so forgiving? Was that a former almost priest thing? Somehow it raised dark feelings in Robbie.  
"You sound tense, James. Remember to grab your CD from the car," Robbie knew that he was bitching but couldn't stop himself.  
"Brilliant," James huffed.  
Oh, no, now he was beginning to feel guilty.

 

It was raining as they came to a crime scene.  
In the neat apartment Laura was busying herself with a body.  
"Randolph James, you say?" Robbie asked.  
"Well, he hasn't been shot, strangled, stabbed, beaten, bludgeoned or had his neck broken," she sounded unreasonably cheerful.  
"If we're listing things that haven'thappened," snapped Robbie, "why not include that he hasn't been struck by lightning or savaged by wolves?"  
Laura raised a brow nonchalantly.  
"Robbie, do I stand in your office asking "Have you caught them yet?"  
James chose this moment to massage his neck.  
"Strong painkillers, warm bath," advised Robbie dryly, trying not to sound like a worried Dad.  
"That's Robbie sorted. How about you?"  
James changed the topic back to business.  
"Randolph James is a practising clairvoyant."  
"He certainly looks like he's seen a ghost." The pun was a bad one, but he wasn’t exactly on top of his form today, was he?

 

As if to add insult to an injury James appeared after the lunch wearing collar.  
"Not one word."  
Was there resentment in James’ words? Should’ve taken the lad to A&E himself. But somehow it seemed his help was unwanted. Or was he overanalyzing again?  
At least Robbie managed to apologize (in a way) for being such a jerk in the morning by calling James "walking Wikipedia’ in Innocent’s office, but only to ruin it some moment later.  
“Must bring back memories, the collar,” blurted Robbie, realizing with a shock that he was kind of punishing James for not seeking his help.  
“Only when it itches,” the answer was delivered in such a small reserved voice, that Robbie resolved on working harder and ignoring all personal issues as much as possible. 

 

As he came home in the evening he felt like he could totally comprehend the time-being-out-of-joint and something-rotten-in-the-state-of-Oxford crap. As he was reaching to turn on the light, the long forgotten voice spoke to him.  
"I'm not very much pleased with you, Robbie".  
Now he was officially stressed.  
"Hi, love?" It came out as a whisper. He squinted only now noticing a shadow in the armchair  
The smell of her perfume, her smell, was reassuring. He didn't dare to move closer  
"James, poor lamb, is getting out of his way to care for you."  
"I don't want his pastoral care!"  
"What is it then that you want, you ungrateful nag?" Robbie has never heard Val so furious  
"Val, please", he pleaded apologetically.  
"I never wanted you to end up like... this", she seemed to wave a hand around, sad and exhausted.  
This flat was unfamiliar to her, and Robbie wondered if ghosts can only visit places there they lived or it was irrelevant.  
"I never wanted you to stay lonely forever."  
"But I'm not! I've got Lyn and... I can manage. I don't like it being an object of his Christian duty or such. I am not that pathetic."  
"Don't you? Aren't you?" She sounded unconvinced. "You're daft for trying to shove off the only person who has been there for you all these years... without me."  
"Maybe I am daft, talking to a ghost," he sighed. "It never turned out well in the books."  
"Not, if a ghost can talk some sense into you", she laughed.

 

Next morning he was knocking on James' door. Hathaway opened, already dressed for work, but with the collar, no tie and unbuttoned top of the shirt he looked like a schoolboy on sick leave  
"C'mon, lad, no driving for you for some time," said Robbie handing him coffee  
"Am I now your 'good deed a day', Sir?" a smile tugged at his lips.  
"Blame it on divine intervention," vaguely answered Robbie. "And so you know: my car, my music."  
"So giving me a lift was just a pretext for getting revenge and bore me to death with Wagner?"  
"Sod off, before I reconsider Barry Manilow."


End file.
